Between Greed and a Cold Place
by Black Friar
Summary: "When morality comes up against profit, it is seldom that profit loses," Shirley Chisholm. Dick learns a chilling lesson about greed and humanity.
1. Chapter 1

Hi all! So here we are, months after I was supposed to post something and I'm only now posting. But better late than never, right? ;) Anyway, this is just a little three-shot about the freezer kidnapping mentioned in _No Good Deed_. I'd actually intended posting something else first but it's not finished yet and this one is nearly finished so I said, 'let's go with this.' Mostly because I want to announce/remind everyone that ARL15 and I are running a _Young Justice_ fanfiction competition (see my profile for prizes and the link to the competition website which has a list of rules as well as the story criteria). The closing date for entry is January 31st for anyone who's interested!

Oh and also, I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas and have a happy new year! :)

oOo

"As long as greed is stronger than compassion, there will always be suffering." Rusty Eric.

oOo

Dick noticed the van seconds before it made a move.

He was sitting at the back of the bus yawning and staring out the window when a flash of black at the corner of his eye caught his attention. Craning his neck, he spotted a van with tinted windows tailgating the bus. Dick sat up straighter – it was _way_ too close.

Mr. Hegarty, the school's bus driver, must have noticed it too, because the bus slowed and moved into the hard shoulder, allowing the van to swing out and overtake them. Dick frowned when the van drove dangerously close alongside the bus.

 _What the_ … _?_ he barely had time to wonder before the van cut in front of the bus, forcing Mr. Hegarty to pull a hard right in order to avoid a collision.

The bus careened off the road, screams and panicked cries rolling in Dick's ears as he was flung into Barbara. A loud _bang_ shuddered through the bus, followed by the harsh screeching of metal as it scraped along the barrier. Fortunately, the bus' reduced speed allowed the driver to regain control pretty quickly and the vehicle rolled to a halt after several yards.

"Is anyone hurt?" called Ms. McKay's shaky voice after several seconds.

Heart pounding, Dick looked up to see the teacher clamber to her feet, white-faced and trembling.

"Is anyone hurt?" she asked again.

A few heads shook in the negative, but most students seemed too dazed to respond. Dick watched Ms. McKay stand up and begin moving down the aisle, checking on the students, until a loud banging from the front made her turn.

Dick sucked in a breath at what he could see through the windshield: the black van had stopped in front of them and three masked gunmen were standing just outside the bus. One of them was banging on the door, clearly demanding entry, which Mr. Hegerty was refusing.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out, and Dick jerked when the driver and students at the front were sprayed with glass.

"OPEN THE FUCK UP!" the gunman yelled, pointing his gun threateningly at Mr. Hegerty. The bus driver had no choice but to oblige.

A few whimpers echoed around the bus as two of the gunmen climbed on, and Dick immediately pulled out his cell phone to send an emergency text.

Except he had no service.

Dick stared at his phone, baffled. Why the heck was there no service? Beside him, Barbara also had her cell phone out and appeared to be experiencing the same problem. She shot him a frightened look and shook her head.

"Wh-what do you want?" Ms. McKay asked the men weakly.

The tallest gunman raised his gun. "Sit down and shut up."

"But–"

"SIT!" the man roared, pointing his gun at the head of the nearest student, who whimpered and covered her face with trembling hands. Dick recognized Alicia Bixton and clenched his fists in anger. Alicia was a special needs student; a gentle, quiet girl who struggled socially. That jerk didn't need to scare her like that!

"Okay," said Ms. McKay, holding her hands up and sliding into the nearest seat. "I'll do what you say. We all will. Please don't hurt anyone."

"Nobody will get hurt so long as you all just sit down and shut up," he told her, then nodded to the other gunman, who started moving down the aisle, scanning the occupants of each seat.

 _He's looking for someone,_ Dick realized.

Barbara had obviously come to the same conclusion because she nudged Dick and mouthed, 'who are they looking for?'

Dick shrugged, his mind going a mile a minute. This was an isolated stretch of road outside the city…the ambush had clearly been planned. But why? And how did they know where the school bus would be?

The bus was mostly silent as the gunman moved down the aisle, the only noise an occasional soft sob. Dick could feel Barbara tense beside him when the gunman approached the back of the bus. He too was stiff with nerves – he'd taken down many gunmen as Robin, but he'd never before encountered one as Dick Grayson and it was more unsettling than he'd expected. He didn't like the helpless feeling that came with being a civilian in this situation.

The gunman reached them and cast his gaze over the students in the back seat. Dick saw his eyes narrow through the balaclava once they fell on him, and his gut lurched when the man pointed his gun at him.

"You. On your feet."

Heart starting to pound, Dick slowly stood up and slipped past a terrified-looking Barbara.

"Move," the man ordered, pushing Dick in front of him. Uncomfortably aware of the wide-eyed stares of his classmates, Dick complied.

"Wait! What are you doing?" Ms. McKay protested, standing up again. Mr. Johnson, the other teacher who had been travelling with them, also got to his feet, a thin trickle of blood visible on his temple.

"Both of you sit down, _now!_ " snapped the man at the front of the bus, swinging his gun from Alicia to point at the two teachers. "Or I swear to Christ, I will splatter your fucking brains all over these kids!"

Both teachers obeyed, their frightened stares going between the gunmen and Dick.

"Please," Ms. McKay began, "whatever you're doing, he's just a child and–"

The gunman pistol-whipped her and several students screamed. "Lady, shut up or I will put a hole between your fucking eyes!"

Holding her now-bleeding cheek, Ms. McKay closed her mouth.

"That's more like it." The man turned his attention to Dick, giving him a shark-like leer. "You'll be coming with us, rich boy. And I'm warning you, you'd better behave or I'll shoot out your kneecaps, understand?"

Mouth a little dry, Dick nodded.

The gunman turned back to Ms. McKay. "You're going to pass on a message to Wayne. Tell him we want forty million in cash or we'll mail his kid back to him in pieces. Tell him we'll call tomorrow to make the exchange. Understand?"

Wide-eyed, Ms. McKay nodded.

"Good. Let's go," he barked at the other gunman, before grabbing Dick's arm and hustling him off the bus.

"Any problems?" asked the gunman who'd waited outside.

The man holding Dick's arm shook his head. "No. You let the air out of the tires?"

"Yeah. They're not going anywhere."

"Then let's get out of here."

The third gunman grabbed Dick's other arm, and between them they practically dragged him towards the black van. He could hear the second gunman following behind and briefly debated fighting back – surely he shouldn't let himself be taken this easily? But what if the men started shooting and someone on the bus got hurt? And what was considered an appropriate level of fighting for a twelve-year-old boy? Maybe an ordinary twelve-year-old wouldn't even fight back! Besides, what if Dick fought back _too_ well and revealed himself as Robin? Bruce would be so mad…

They reached the van. The man who'd been doing most of the talking opened the side door and climbed in, dragging Dick with him. The other two men got in after them and the door slammed shut.

"What are you waiting for?" one of the men snapped. "Drive!"

The van's engine roared to life and Dick looked to the front, where a fourth masked man was sitting. It was the last thing he saw before a hood was dropped over his head and someone pushed him forcefully down onto the floor, smashing his chin as they did so.

"Hey!" he cried, startled.

"Shut up!" a voice snapped.

Rough hands grabbed Dick's arms and forced them behind his back, before winding some rope around his wrists. The rumble beneath his stomach told him the van was moving out and Dick felt a little frisson of fear shiver through him. This was really happening. He was being kidnapped. For _ransom_.

They finished restraining him and Dick felt something hard press against his shoulder blade just as the gunman who'd been doing most of the talking spoke again. "We don't have to hurt you. But if you move, we will. So just lie there and stay quiet, understand?"

Dick realized the something hard was a gun and swallowed before nodding.

"Smart boy. Do you have a cell phone?"

Dick nodded again.

"Where is it?"

"In my right pocket," Dick replied, and immediately felt a hand root in that pocket and extract his cell phone.

"Alright, toss it," the gunman who seemed to be in charge said.

There was a brief whirring noise, followed by the sound of rushing air and then more whirring. Dick guessed a window had been opened and his phone thrown out. He sighed. There went any hope of tracking him using his phone's GPS.

The van turned off onto a bumpy road and a tense silence fell. As he slipped and slid around the floor with the van's jerky movements, Dick was tempted to make a smart remark to break the tension. Snark was one of his most comforting defences as Robin.

Except he wasn't Robin right now. He had no defences: no weapons to help him fight back, no Kevlar to protect him from bullets, and no Batman to back him up. He was completely alone in this and it was a little scary.

Fifteen minutes passed before the van stopped and Dick – sore and bruised from being thrown around on the floor – was dragged out and hefted across someone's shoulder. There was a crunching noise and he caught a glimpse of gravel as the hood began to slip from his head. After a moment, the crunching stopped and Dick was thrust back on his feet so quickly it made his head spin. Hands steadied him and the hood was whipped off.

Dick blinked in the harsh glare of the afternoon sun until what looked like an abandoned quarry came into view. The masked men were clustered around him, three of them still holding guns. The fourth was standing directly in front of Dick with a bottle of water, his cold gray eyes staring down at him.

"You need to take these," he said, holding up two white pills.

"What! Why?" Dick asked, jerking back when the pills moved towards his mouth.

A hard slap was delivered to his face, making his ears ring. "Because I said so," the man growled. "Now _swallow_."

One of the guns jabbed hard into his side and the pills were pushed into his mouth, followed by the lip of the water bottle. Dick had no choice. He drank and the water washed the pills down, leaving behind a chalky aftertaste. A little panic edged in…what had he just taken?

"Open your mouth," the man ordered.

Dick complied when the gun jabbed again. This wasn't the guy who'd been doing all the talking on the bus; it was the one who'd waited outside. Before Dick had time to wonder at the chain of command, fingers were thrust into his mouth, making him gag. But the man ignored him, running his fingers along Dick's teeth and under his tongue, checking to make sure he'd swallowed the pills.

As soon as the man removed his fingers, Dick spat onto the ground. He felt sick. That was disgusting! For all he knew, that guy could be someone who never washed his hands!

Still feeling sick, he spat again and the man shook him. "Stop that!"

"What do you expect? You put your fingers in my _mouth!_ " Dick snapped, before he could stop himself.

The man hit him so hard that Dick literally saw stars. Grabbing Dick's shoulder, the man lowered his face until they were nose to nose. "I hear any more of that rich-brat crap out of you and I will break your arm, understand?"

Biting back a smart remark, Dick nodded.

"Put him in the car," the man ordered, and the guy to Dick's right immediately dragged him towards a silver range rover parked behind them.

Dick's apprehension rose at the realization that they were changing vehicles. This was something else that would make it harder to track him.

He was forced into the back of the jeep and froze when he caught sight of the backseat. It was propped up, revealing a storage compartment beneath. Dick guessed they planned to put him in there and felt his stomach drop. What if he suffocated?

He tried to back up, but the man had now gotten in with him and started shoving him down towards the compartment.

"But what if–" Dick stopped when the gun muzzle pressed into his cheek.

"Get. In," the man spat.

Dick swallowed. The man had a tight grip on his arm and was pressed so close against his back that his doubled over form was nearly squashing Dick against the seat. Even if he was Robin, he had no room to manoeuvre safely with a gun so close. Reluctantly, he climbed in to the little compartment and sat down. The man pushed hard on his shoulder, forcing Dick to scrunch into the cramped space, then slammed the seat down, leaving him in darkness.

Heart pounding, Dick tried to get his hands in front of him, but there was no room to move in the tiny space and he seemed to be missing his usual coordination. After several attempts, Dick gave up and tried to get at the knots instead. He could feel the rope twisting and scraping painfully around his wrists as he wriggled his fingers towards the knots, but it was useless. His hands were too shaky and clumsy to get a proper grip.

Finally, Dick slumped against the side of the storage compartment, confused by his poor coordination. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he do it? He'd done it plenty of times before.

His thoughts started to drift. It was only when the jeep braked suddenly and Dick smacked his forehead that he realized they were moving. How had he missed the car starting up? Voices sounded directly above him where the men were obviously now sitting, confusing him further. He hadn't heard them get in either.

Dick was shuffling awkwardly into a position where he wouldn't get a concussion if they braked again, when he inexplicably found himself slumped in a loose ball, his head drooping onto his chest. Bewildered, he tried to get more upright but found it a struggle – his limbs were heavy and his head was starting to spin.

 _Those pills_ , he realized, an insidious sleepiness creeping over him.

Dick tried to fight the encroaching unconsciousness, to force himself into a more upright position, because the idea of being completely unconscious in this situation unnerved him. Without meaning to, he slid further down, then twitched violently. _Can't pass out_ …

His eyes were closed. When had he closed them? Dick pried them open – it was dark. Very dark. And the sound of the engine was kinda soothing…

His eyes had closed again. Dick tried to open them but wasn't sure if he actually managed it. There was a lot of dark…

 _Don't_ … _can't sleep_. But he was tired and no longer sure why he was fighting it. Everything felt heavy…

It seemed easier to give in, so Dick let the weight press him into nothing.

oOo

As Dick slowly came back to awareness, the first thing he felt was the uncomfortable strain of his arms pulled back around something large, its sharp corners digging into him. He tried to move, but the tug on his wrists told him they were restrained.

"Ngghhhh?" he mumbled, opening his eyes. But all he saw was darkness. It took Dick several seconds to realize there was a hood over his head. "Wha…?"

Then he remembered. The school bus, the gunmen, being kidnapped… Instinctively, Dick tested his bonds. His hands were numb and there was a weird tingling sensation in his fingers from being restrained, but it was nothing he couldn't work with.

He listened for a moment. There was a faint murmur of voices, as if from another room. It didn't sound like his kidnappers were watching him. Wriggling his fingers, he started feeling for the knots and did his best to ignore the painful pinching of the ropes on his skin. The effects of the drugs were wearing off and despite how numb they were, his fingers still felt less clumsy than they had in the jeep. After several minutes, he could feel himself starting to make some headway on the rope.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" a voice yelled suddenly, making Dick jerk and causing pain to shoot through his shoulders from the awkward position they were pulled into.

"You little _shit!_ " the voice shouted at him, and a hand smacked down on his fingers.

"What's going on?" called a second voice, and Dick recognized it as the gunman who had shoved his fingers in his mouth back at the quarry. His voice was deeper than the others.

"The kid was untying himself! Look!"

Footsteps came closer and then stopped. "How the fuck did he manage that?!"

"Hell if I know!" A hand grabbed the front of Dick's shirt. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

Hours and hours of training with Batman. But he couldn't exactly tell them that.

"Answer me!" the man snapped, backhanding him.

"I…uh…" How was he going to explain this?

Another hard backhand made Dick feel like he was tilting, before a hand grabbed his jaw through the hood. "I asked you a question," the man growled, low and dangerous.

"I…I learned at the circus." Dick used the first lie that came to mind and, to his relief, the hand released him.

"Kid _was_ a circus brat before Wayne took him in," the second man commented.

"Shit," said the first man. "How're we supposed to keep him from escaping without constantly having to watch him? We can't drug him again."

"I have an idea. Keep an eye on him."

Dick heard the second man walk away and the frustrated exhale of the first. "Little shit," he mumbled, pushing Dick's head down in one rough, forward shove. Dick wisely stayed quiet.

Several long minutes passed before footsteps sounded, and Dick realized they carried a weird echo, almost as if the room was very big or very empty. Maybe both.

"So, the brat thinks he's fucking Harry Houdini?" a voice said, and Dick immediately placed it as that of the gunman from the bus. "Well, we won't be long changing that."

A pair of hands gripped his lower arms while someone else untied the rope around his wrists.

"What is that?" asked the man who had discovered Dick trying to untie himself.

"Piano wire," came the deep voice of the gunman who'd stuck his fingers in Dick's mouth. "He won't find it so easy to get out of _this_."

Something was looped around each of Dick's wrists, then pulled tight. "Ah!" he gasped, as wire cut into his skin.

"Hurts, huh?" commented Deep Voice, as the wire was wound around Dick's wrists. "Good. That should keep you from wriggling out of it – it'll tear your skin off every time you try."

"Restraining him with _wire_?" said a new voice suddenly, and Dick tensed. That voice… "C'mon, isn't that a bit much? He's just a kid."

"Shut up!" snapped the gunman from the bus, as the wire was tied up. "Can't have our meal ticket pulling a Houdini on us, can we?"

Dick waited breathlessly for the new guy's response. There was something awfully familiar about his voice.

However, the man didn't speak again. Instead, the bus gunman laughed and patted Dick's chest, while the other hands released his lower arms. "Better get comfortable, kid – we won't be calling your old man till tomorrow afternoon."

They moved away, the bus gunman talking about how he was going to spend his share of the ransom money as their footsteps faded.

Cautiously, Dick tried to move his hands, but hissed in pain when the wire gouged into his skin. The kidnapper was right – there was no way he would be able to get out of this without serious damage to his hands and wrists.

He sighed and slumped against whatever he was tied to. He couldn't believe a bunch of jerks had kidnapped him for freaking _ransom!_ Even with Bruce cautioning him about it, Dick had always thought stuff like that only happened on TV. But this was real. Scarily so. He wondered how much time had passed since he'd been taken. Did Bruce know by now? He hoped so. Maybe Batman would find him before he had to spend too long with these morons.

But what if Batman didn't find him? Dick swallowed nervously. Forty million was a _lot_ of money and he wasn't exactly Bruce's _real_ son – what if Bruce decided not to pay the ransom? Dick immediately shook that thought out of his head. Money wasn't important to Bruce, just a means to fund his crusade as Batman. He would never place wealth above a person's life, especially not someone he knew. Dick was old enough to understand this, to understand Bruce.

But the nagging thought persisted; what if Bruce thought forty million was too much? What if he decided not to give in to men like this? Bruce was always saying that negotiating with terrorists only encouraged other terrorist actions.

Despite his best efforts to rationalize with himself, to scold himself that he was doing Bruce an injustice to even think this way, Dick couldn't shake the uncertainty, the slight fear that Bruce might not pay the ransom.

oOo

The hours passed, miserable and excruciatingly long, until cabin fever had Dick grinding his teeth almost to the point of cracking. He'd never been one for staying still and this forced confinement was a form of torture to him. He had tried to stand and stretch a few times, just to ease the unbearable stiffness, but the wire around his wrists tightened and tore into his flesh, forcing him back to immobility.

No one could ever consider kidnapping a comfortable experience, but neither had Dick ever imagined just how uncomfortable it was. His body was stiff and twitchy, his wrists throbbed from the wire, and his shoulders ached from the position his arms had been restrained in for so long. He was also horribly thirsty.

But by far the worst, embarrassingly so, was the need to use the bathroom. Dick had done his best to keep track of how much time had passed since he'd woken up here, estimating it to be somewhere between seventeen and eighteen hours. The men had kept a careful eye on him throughout, but refused to untie him. One of them even laughed when Dick had finally asked if he could use the restroom. And now here he was, squirming, _bursting_ , from the need to go, almost trembling with mortification at the thought of having an accident. It was the most humiliating situation he'd ever been in.

 _Bet Batman could get out of this_ , Dick thought, testing the wires for the umpteenth time and gasping when they rubbed against his raw, torn skin. _Oh god, I need to pee_ …

He was so intent on his discomfort that he didn't hear the footsteps until they were practically beside him. "I have some water if you want it," someone said.

It was the familiar voice, but Dick couldn't concentrate on it right now. "Please, I really need the restroom!" he said, almost desperately.

There was silence. Then, "I'll see what I can do."

There was the sound of retreating footsteps, followed by voices from another room. Dick gritted his teeth and shifted miserably, clenching his lower body. _Oh god, oh god, oh god_ …

The voices in the other room were getting louder, and despite his wretched predicament, Dick's training had him instinctively trying to hear what they were saying. He barely caught the "let's help him out" before several sets of footsteps entered the room and pattered towards him.

"So, the little rich boy needs to go," the mocking voice of the bus gunman sounded. "And here I thought you rich folk didn't shit like the rest of us mere mortals!"

Loud, raucous laughter erupted and Dick cringed with embarrassment.

"So tell us, rich boy, do you need to go tinkle?" jeered Deep Voice in a high-pitched, baby tone. "Or you gonna show us that rich people poop gold?"

More laughter sounded and Dick swallowed back his anger and humiliation. "Please can I use the restroom?" he asked with as much dignity as he could muster because screw these hyena-jerks!

"Ooooooh, listen to Mr. Hoity-Toity!" sneered the bus gunman. "Think you're above us, do you? I'll show you that you're just like the rest of us."

A hand was placed over Dick's stomach and pushed into his already full bladder. He tried to jerk away, only for the hand to press down even harder. Unable to help it, Dick whined and the men howled with laughter.

"Whassa matter, rich boy?" leered the bus gunman, pushing harder into Dick's stomach. The pressure was unbearable and Dick groaned, trying desperately not to lose control. "Afraid to piss like the rest of us?"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" an angry voice yelled and the pressure disappeared. "Jesus Christ, what's the matter with you? He's just a kid!"

There was silence. Dick might not have been able to see, but he could sense the immediate change in atmosphere. The air practically crackled with hostility.

"Do you remember why you're here?" asked the bus gunman in a low, dangerous tone.

"I know why I'm here!" snapped the angry voice, and Dick realized it was also the familiar one. "But you need to lay off before you hurt him. You said it yourself – he's our meal ticket. We need him in one piece to get our payout."

"Fine!" snapped the bus gunman. "We're due to call Wayne soon anyway. You two! Take him to the john."

Someone cut the wire off his wrists and unravelled it, making Dick hiss in pain as it was pulled out from his skin. He could only imagine what his wrists looked like. It was a relief to bring his arms in front of him, but he didn't get the chance to stretch before two sets of hands – one on either arm – hefted him to his feet. His legs buckled a little but the hands kept him upright.

Dick's mind was whirling while the men performed a weird mix of carrying, dragging and leading him towards wherever the restroom was. He knew that voice. He knew that voice…but _where_ did he know it from? It scratched from somewhere in his memory, but he just couldn't place it. And it was too hard to think clearly with his bladder literally at the point of exploding, while painful pins and needles prickled through his numb limbs.

Then one of the men let go of his arm while the other dragged Dick into a room. "Can's right in front of you," announced Deep Voice. "Keep the hood on."

Dick's face burned when he realized the man wouldn't leave him alone. Like this situation wasn't embarrassing enough. He used his feet to feel for the toilet bowl, before undoing his pants and using the toilet. Despite how humiliating this was, Dick couldn't help but feel relief at having that discomfort removed. He'd barely managed to close his pants before Deep Voice was yanking him out of the room. Dick felt like punching him – would it have killed him to give Dick a few minutes to stretch and wash his hands?

"Guess you didn't find out if the rich poop gold, huh?" laughed the guy outside.

Deep Voice made some sort of grunt in response before they hustled Dick back to the room he'd been in before. He could hear the bus gunman and Familiar Voice arguing as they approached.

"…to stop the police from arresting us once we tell Wayne where his kid is?"

"Trust me, the police won't be anywhere near Wayne when he hands over the ransom," came the smug voice of the bus gunman. "I've got a plan."

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Familiar Voice. "What plan? This is supposed to be a straight swap, remember?"

"Just shut up and get your shit ready. And put your mask on."

"My mask? Why–"

"We have to take the hood off the kid so he can talk to Wayne," answered Deep Voice as they re-entered the room. "Now organize your crap so we can do this thing."

"Alright, fine," snapped Familiar Voice, an edge to his tone.

It didn't sound like they were letting him in on the whole plan. Dick wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that he was so different to the rest of them: he clearly didn't delight in violence like they did. More importantly, who the heck _was_ he? Because it was really bugging Dick – he _knew_ that voice!

"Kid finished? We good to go?" the bus gunman asked.

"All set," Deep Voice replied.

"Still don't know if rich pricks poop gold though!" laughed the other guy and Dick scowled. He was rapidly coming to think of him as the hyena because of that obnoxious laugh.

"We'll all be rich pricks soon enough," said the bus gunman. "Maybe we'll find out then." There was a round of braying laughter before he added, "Better get your masks on."

The men holding Dick's arms let go and he immediately took the chance to stretch his numb, prickling arms. He wondered if maybe he should make a move…before the unmistakeable feel of guns pressed into him from each side.

"Here's how it's gonna go," the bus gunman told Dick. "We're gonna call daddy and make sure he has the cash before we let you talk to him. You tell him what I tell you to say. Try to give him any clue about where you are and we'll shoot you. Understood?"

Rolling his eyes, Dick resisted the urge to point out that he had no clue where he was. "Yes."

"Good."

The hood was pulled off and Dick had to squint against the sudden brightness. He blinked several times until his vision cleared and the room came into view. They were in some kind of industrial kitchen, probably a restaurant kitchen. It was such a mob cliché that Dick almost wanted to laugh.

Almost.

Glancing around the room, he spied several spools of wire discarded beside a nearby pillar, and guessed that was what he'd spent the last eighteen or so hours tied to. The kitchen was windowless, with a set of double doors at one end and a single door at the other. The room itself consisted of long, stainless steel counters, two large stoves, a washing up station, a walk-in freezer and a freezer chest. There was nothing remarkable about it.

Dick turned his attention to the kidnappers, all in balaclavas once more. The two on either side of him still had their guns digging into him. The third man was leaning against a nearby counter with his arms crossed, while the fourth was working on a laptop in the corner, his fingers flying over the keys.

Looking down at himself, Dick could see that his school uniform was dishevelled and dirty, with a few spots of blood on his white shirt. He glanced at his wrists and grimaced at the raw, torn gashes that had been gouged by the wire. Lovely. They were going to be a real pain to heal. Literally.

"Okay, I'm set up," said the guy at the computer, and Dick realized it was the man with the familiar voice.

"Then let's do this," said the guy leaning against the counter, taking out a cell phone. He strode over to Dick and handed him the phone. "Key in daddy's cell number."

Dick did as ordered. As soon as he entered the last digit, the man snatched the phone back and pressed call. Holding the phone to his ear, he narrowed his eyes at Dick. "Just remember, tell him only what I tell you to say."

Dick nodded, recognizing the voice of the bus gunman.

" _Bruce_ ," said the bus gunman suddenly with a smirk, "what a _pleasure_ it is to talk to you." The gunmen on either side of Dick laughed. "Patience, Bruce, patience," the bus gunman continued. "I'll let you talk to him in a minute. But first, do you have the money? Forty million in cash?"

This time, Dick could kind of hear Bruce's voice, although he couldn't hear what he was saying.

"Sure thing, Bruce," said the bus gunman, sauntering over to the freezer chest, "just hold on and I'll get him for you. Oh, _Dick!_ " he called in a sing-song voice.

The two men on either side of Dick pushed him over to the bus gunman, who held out the phone and said with a smug smile, "It's for you."

Dick took the phone. "Bruce?"

"Dick, thank god!" came the relieved voice of his guardian. It was louder than it should have been and Dick realized the kidnapper had put the phone on speaker. "Are you alright? Have they hurt you?"

The bus gunman shook his head at Dick.

"No," said Dick, frowning at the bus gunman. The jerk really did intend to control this entire conversation!

"I suppose that's something," Bruce muttered. "Listen, kiddo, I have the money and I'll get you home as quick as I can, okay? Just hang in there."

"Tell him what you see," said the bus gunman suddenly, pointing to the freezer chest. "Tell him about the freezer."

"Dick?" said Bruce, concern colouring his tone.

"Um…I'm supposed to tell you what I see," he replied, confused. "There's a freezer…"

"A freezer _chest_ ," the bus gunman corrected.

Dick complied. "It's a chest. A freezer chest."

The bus gunman tapped at the locks on the freezer, looking pointedly at Dick.

"Dick, what–"

"Ah…there's two locks on it," Dick interrupted, a knot of apprehension growing in his stomach. Why were they making him tell Bruce about this?

Clearly, Bruce was thinking the same thing because he asked warily, "Dick, why are you telling me this?"

"I…" Dick paused, distracted, as the bus gunman opened the freezer and pointed into it.

"Tell him what's in there."

Dick looked into the freezer. Bags of frozen peas filled just over half of it.

"Dick?" Bruce's voice sounded again and this time there was an edge to it.

"Uh…it's filled with bags of frozen peas," Dick said, glancing back at the bus gunman with a sick feeling in his gut. There was something off about this…

The man smiled and took the phone from him. "Time's up. Here's how it's going to go, Bruce – you're going to get in your car and drive into Gotham. No cops, just you. You have fifteen minutes to get into the city before I call you again and tell you where to meet us with the money. And just to make sure there's no cops; your kid will be waiting in the freezer he told you about."

Dick's eyes widened. _What?!_

Before he could react, the gunmen on either side of him had grabbed his arms and legs, lifting him up. "NO!" he shouted, struggling and trying to kick out. But the men were stronger and Dick was tipped into the freezer, landing face-down on the bags of frozen peas.

Panicking, he twisted around just in time to see the lid come down, trapping him in icy darkness.

Immediately, he scrambled up, hitting his head as he did so. There wasn't enough space for him to sit upright. Dick hammered on the lid but it didn't budge – the men had locked it from the outside. Heart pounding wildly, he lay on his back and used his legs to kick at the lid. It still didn't move.

Someone was shouting outside the freezer. Trying really hard not to freak out as the cold seeped through him, Dick rolled up onto his elbow and listened to what they were saying.

"…not part of the plan!" Familiar Voice was yelling. "Get him out of there now!"

"No way," Deep Voice snapped back. "As long as Wayne and the cops know he's trapped in that freezer, they're not gonna follow us."

"You could kill him!" Familiar Voice cried.

"He won't die so long as Wayne does as he's told," the bus gunman replied. "Now stop wasting time and pack up your shit. We need to get to the drop point."

But Familiar Voice continued to argue. "Look, just take him out of the freezer and tie him up. You can pretend to Wayne that he's still in the freezer."

"No way. Not when the kid can Houdini his ass out of the ropes," retorted Deep Voice. "Now get moving."

"But–"

"ENOUGH!" roared the bus gunman. "The longer you argue, the more time that kid spends in the freezer. And you'd want to remember why you're here in the first place…unless you want us to forget our end of the deal."

There was silence. Dick strained to hear more, but after a minute of nothing he realized the men had stopped arguing and were probably packing up.

Oh god, they were really going to leave him in here.

Lying on his back again, Dick kicked at the lid as hard as he was capable of. "C'mon…c'mon…c'mon!" he grunted, punctuating each word with a kick. After several minutes of kicking, he let his legs drop. Breathless from exertion and feeling the cold of the frozen peas soaking into him, Dick lost the tenuous grip on his panic and hammered on the lid with his hands.

"LET ME OUT!" he yelled. "LET. ME. _OUT!_ "

There was no response, not a single sound. The kidnappers had probably left. Gulping, Dick tried to get his panic under control. He'd been trained by Batman for crying out loud, and the number one rule that had been drummed into him from the start was to never, ever panic. Panicking got you killed.

So easy to say that when you weren't trapped in a freezer.

Closing his eyes, Dick took a deep, shaky breath, wincing at how the icy air pinched the inside of lungs. He needed to be rational. He needed to think about this rationally.

The men weren't trying to kill him or they'd have done it as soon as they ended the ransom call. They just wanted to make a clean get away with the money…so once Bruce handed the money over, they would send him here. They'd told Bruce fifteen minutes to get into the city on the phone, right? That meant it must take them fifteen minutes to get to the meeting spot. Add in another ten to fifteen minutes to exchange the money – because Dick knew Bruce wouldn't waste time – and another fifteen for Bruce to get here, and he'd probably be out of this icebox in about forty-five minutes. Give or take.

Dick exhaled and opened his eyes. He was pretty sure people had survived for longer in colder circumstances. He could do this. Some mild hypothermia maybe, but nothing Alfred's hot chocolate wouldn't fix.

 _Yeah, so not the time to be thinking about hot chocolate._

He was starting to shake – the cold had now leached every ounce of warmth from his body. He wouldn't be able to avoid hypothermia after forty-five minutes in here, but that didn't mean he couldn't do something to minimize the damage caused by the cold.

It was difficult to manoeuvre in the cramped space, but Dick managed to shuffle until he was crouched at one end of the freezer. Pulling the sleeves of his blazer over his hands, he started to stack the bags of frozen peas to one side. It was slow going in the dark, not to mention he kept dropping the bags because it was difficult to keep a grip on them through the blazer. Dick knew it would have been quicker to do it with his bare hands, but he also knew the extremities were the first things to lose heat – maintaining core temperature was the body's priority in severe cold, making extremities more susceptible to frostbite. And frostbite could set in after thirty minutes in these temperatures.

When he had finally cleared a small space to one side of the freezer where he wouldn't be sitting on bags of frozen peas, Dick immediately set about limiting his skin's exposure to the cold. He tucked his pants into his socks, then struggled with numb fingers to position his tie around his head to protect his ears. When he'd finally managed to do that he turned up the collars of his shirt and blazer, before pulling his legs up to his chest and hunching into a ball where he tucked his hands beneath his armpits and pressed his face into his thighs, leaving a small gap to breathe through. Movement would probably have been a better option to preserve core temperature, but this was a small freezer and Dick couldn't be sure of how much air it contained.

Settling down to wait, he was dismayed to realize that he was now shaking violently. Shivering was one of the first stages of hypothermia…surely it couldn't be setting in already? He'd only been in here for about ten minutes – he thought he'd have at least twenty before the hypothermia set in. The freezer must be colder than he'd calculated for.

Or else his size was letting him down. Dick groaned as he remembered a titbit of information from his training: children succumb to the effects of hypothermia more quickly than adults because less body mass under the skin means they cool down more quickly. Freaking wonderful.

In order to ride out the slow, uncomfortable wait for Bruce, Dick tried to access some of the meditation techniques that Bruce had taught him in order to conserve energy and keep from flipping out. But it was difficult, the bone-jarring cold making it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

Gradually, the cold moved from unpleasant to painful, and Dick pulled his limbs even more tightly against himself. His teeth chattered loudly, while his sporadic gasps echoed around the dark of the freezer. Bruce was coming. He just needed to keep telling himself that. It didn't matter how much this hurt because Bruce was coming.

But it was a struggle to remain calm when his brain kept wondering if Bruce didn't get here, would he suffocate or freeze first?

Curled up in his icy corner, shivering and gasping, Dick counted time in an effort to keep it together. But when he reached forty-five minutes with no sign of Bruce, he started to get a little scared. His fingers, ears, and toes were itching and stinging madly with what he guessed was the beginnings of frostbite, and it was an effort to keep his limbs tucked against him – fatigue had kicked in. Not to mention he could feel the air getting thinner. At first, Dick had thought it was the sharp cold which stung his airways that was making breathing so hard, before realizing that the freezer was slowly filling with carbon dioxide.

Too bad the frozen peas weren't trees he could convert into oxygen. Heh. Wait! That didn't make sense…

 _Get a grip!_ He shook himself. He couldn't afford to drift into confusion. Confused people with hypothermia sometimes made poor decisions, like removing their clothes. Dick had never quite understood how that was possible, but he had no intention of trying to understand it now. His clothes were staying _on_ , thank-you-very-much.

He returned to counting time in an effort to stay focused. But his concentration was wavering by the time he reached seventy-three minutes, his eyes drooping with the heavy pull of exhaustion. The violent shivering had also tapered into small shudders and Dick knew that was a bad thing, although he couldn't quite remember why.

"C-c'mon…B-Brusss…w-w-wherrrrrr…you?"

Bruce was late. Bruce was never late. Why wasn't he here? Dick was so tired. He really just wanted to lie down. In his warm bed. With Alfred's hot chocolate. Hot chocolate sounded so awesome right now…wait, wasn't he supposed to be doing something?

"C-c-count," Dick reminded himself. _One_ … _two_ … _three_ … _four_ … _five_ … _six_ … _seven_ … He could feel his eyes slipping closed. They felt so very heavy. Surely it would be okay to close them for a minute or two?

"N-n-n-n-o!" he gasped, wrenching his eyes open. Bad sleep. Bad. This was one of those poor decisions he wasn't supposed to make. _One_ … _two_ … _three_ … _four_ … _five_ …

But…his mind felt fuzzy…Dick wasn't sure what he was supposed to be doing…he'd been counting…didn't you count sheep to fall asleep? And he was lying down…in the dark…that meant sleep…so why wasn't he supposed to sleep? Something about cold…he was definitely cold…

Cold and counting. They made sense. He didn't know why, but they made sense…didn't they? No, wait…it was something about Bruce…Bruce and counting…

 _One_ … _two_ … _three_ … _four_ …

No…Bruce wasn't counting…he wasn't here…Dick was here…Dick was counting…counting sheep…

 _One_ … _two_ … _four_ …

Dick eyes slid closed and he let them. Wasn't that what he was counting sheep for?


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to everyone who commented on chapter one. I'm fairly certain I managed to get back to everyone individually - if I didn't, I apologize. Things are fairly hectic for me at the moment (so what else is new?). But I really appreciate your wonderful feedback. :)

I also need to thank the ever wonderful Haley Kim for the excellent beta (seriously, why do I always forget to do this in chapter one?). Kim, you are the best beta ever and you rock. 'Nuff said. :)

Last, there are just under three weeks left to the deadline for the _Young Justice_ fanfiction competition I'm running with ARL15 (so basically still time if you want to enter! :D). Check out my profile for the information.

Happy reading, folks!

oOo

"How can you say that?" Soloman Thandy demanded. "The Delgrassi contract secured us almost a billion in revenue last year alone! I say we agree to the terms of their new contract instead of quibbling over minor details."

"You can't be serious," argued Amanda Dreyfuss. "Those _minor details_ were partially responsible for netting us that profit margin."

Bruce massaged his temple as the table around him erupted into disagreement. Christ, he hated board meetings. What masochist had decided they were a necessary evil of business? "Enough," he interrupted, tapping the table with his pen. "The Delgrassi contract absolutely needs to be renegotiated. We can agree to some of Lando's new terms, but not all of them. What we need to discuss is which terms are acceptable and which are non-negotiable."

"Well, I can think of one which is absolutely non-negotiable," said Amanda Dreyfuss at once. "The clause prohibiting Wayne Tech from–"

She was interrupted by a knock. The door opened and Bruce's PA slipped her head around the door.

Bruce frowned at her. "Maggie, I said no interruptions."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne, but Captain Gordon is here and he says it's urgent."

His frown deepened and he turned to his CFO. "Lucius, can you take over, please? I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Of course," Lucius replied, looking at him with mild concern.

"Excuse me," Bruce told the board, getting to his feet. There was silence as he walked towards his PA. He could feel every eye in the room following him but he was more concerned with what had brought Gordon here. It had to be something serious for the police captain himself to come.

Bruce stepped through the double doors of the board room into the executive lobby, spying the police captain and his accompanying officer before Maggie had even pointed them out. His heart skipped a little at the grim, hard expressions on both their faces. Closing the door behind him, he quickly walked towards them. "Captain Gordon, what's going on?"

Jim Gordon fixed him with a serious look. "Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry, there's no easy way to say this – Dick has been kidnapped."

The ground rocked beneath Bruce and he stared at Gordon in shock. "What! _How?_ "

"The Gotham Academy school bus was ambushed almost two hours ago on its way back from the field trip. A black van forced it off the road– no one was hurt," he added quickly, "but three armed men took Dick off the bus. They left a message for you with one of the teachers: they said they want forty million in cash by tomorrow."

"Or?"

Gordon hesitated.

"What did they say, Jim? Their _exact_ words."

The officer sighed. "I believe their exact words were that they'd send Dick back to you in pieces."

"Christ!" Bruce held a hand to his head, unable to believe this was happening. Ever since he'd adopted Dick he'd known kidnapping was a threat, but he'd never really believed it would actually happen. Not with the precautions he took to keep the boy safe.

Precautions.

Something clicked and he dropped his hand. "Dick's cell! You can track the GPS in his cell!"

"That's the first thing we did before even getting to the scene," Gordon replied. "They tossed it just a few hundred yards from where they snatched him."

Bruce's heart sank. "Do you have _anything_ on the kidnappers?"

"No. They were all masked and made their move on the most isolated stretch of road that the bus had to travel–"

"You're saying they knew where Dick would be in advance," Bruce cut in grimly.

Gordon nodded. "The abduction was clearly planned – they were on and off the bus in minutes. They were prepared enough to use a cell-phone jammer to prevent anyone from calling for help – we found it beneath the bus and I'm betting they left it there to buy themselves time to get away. They even let the air out of the tires. The bus driver had to trek nearly half a mile before he could get a signal to call the police."

"But how did they know where Dick would be?" Bruce demanded, worry churning in his stomach. "The school's security policy is supposed to prevent anyone but the children's parents knowing where they're going!"

"We're working on that. I have officers on their way to interview staff at the school, as well as the parents of the other kids on the trip, but I need to talk to you as well. Did anyone outside of you and Mr. Pennyworth know Dick would be on that trip?"

Bruce shook his head. "I'm careful about what I say when it comes to Dick for this very reason."

"I thought you might say that." Gordon sighed and turned to the officer beside him. "Have another unit join those scouting the area surrounding the abduction. Someone has to have seen something and the sooner we get a lead, the better."

"Yes, sir."

The officer disappeared and Gordon turned back to Bruce. "Mr. Wayne, calls to your cell can be tracked, but we're going to need to set up a trace on the manor phones…just in case they contact you there."

Bruce nodded. "I'll let Alfred know what's happening so that he'll be expecting you."

Gordon looked taken aback. "Where are you going to be?"

"Here. I need forty million dollars in cash by tomorrow, Captain. I have work to do."

oOo

Ignoring the various GCPD personnel scattered throughout his living room, Bruce paced restlessly, an anxious, sick feeling in his gut.

It had been more than twenty-four hours since Dick's abduction with no word from his kidnappers, and Bruce was starting to feel a little frantic. Why hadn't they called? Had something gone wrong? Was Dick okay? Bruce knew this sick, anxious feeling would persist as long as his son was in the hands of kidnappers, but he might feel somewhat better if he could at least _speak_ to the boy and confirm that he was okay. But this waiting, not knowing…it made Bruce feel like he was going out of his mind.

It didn't help that the only thing the police investigation had yielded was a burnt-out black van at an abandoned quarry which Gordon suspected had been used in the abduction. Forensics were still examining the vehicle, but Bruce wasn't holding his breath: it had been reported stolen two hours before Dick's abduction.

Bruce had also conducted his own investigation, spending all night down in the cave while the officers assigned to the manor thought he was brooding in his study. But a thorough investigation of Gotham Academy's staff and the families of the other children on the bus hadn't uncovered anything even remotely suspicious. Not to mention there'd been very limited CCTV footage of the van theft: a shot of two men in hoodies breaking into the van and a clip of it leaving the city. After that – nothing.

Bruce paused mid-pace and scowled at the phone. _Ring, damn you!_ He wanted them to call, to get this over with. He wanted his son back. He didn't care about the money – they could have it if only they'd fucking call!

His eyes went to the suitcases containing the money. They had been delivered by armoured truck that morning. There were four – ten million per case – made of reinforced steel with powerful wheels to withstand the weight. Forty million in cash was roughly the weight of a horse.

He was about to resume pacing when suddenly his phone rang.

The room fell silent as Bruce glanced at the screen. He felt his stomach flip. Unknown number. He hit the answer button quickly. "Hello?"

" _Bruce_ , what a _pleasure_ it is to talk to you," came a gleeful voice from the other end.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. It was them. "Where's Dick? I want to talk to him!"

"Patience, Bruce, patience," the kidnapper replied, his overly familiar use of Bruce's name clearly intended to antagonize. "I'll let you talk to him in a minute. But first, do you have the money? Forty million in cash?"

"I have it. Now let me talk to Dick!"

"Sure thing, Bruce," said the man with mock friendliness, "just hold on and I'll get him for you. Oh, _Dick!_ " he called in a sing-song voice, setting Bruce's teeth on edge.

After a moment, Dick's voice sounded on the line. "Bruce?"

Relief washed over him. "Dick, thank god!" The slight echo of his own voice told Bruce he was on speakerphone. "Are you alright? Have they hurt you?"

"No."

"I suppose that's something. Listen, kiddo, I have the money and I'll get you home as quick as I can, okay? Just hang in there."

Dick didn't respond. Bruce could hear the man saying something to him on the other end and frowned in concern. "Dick?"

"Um…I'm supposed to tell you what I see," Dick replied, confusion in his voice. "There's a freezer…"

The man in the background spoke again and Dick added quickly, "It's a chest. A freezer chest."

Bruce felt his heartbeat pick up. "Dick, what–"

"Ah…there's two locks on it," Dick interrupted.

A cold, sick feeling settled in Bruce's stomach. "Dick, why are you telling me this?"

"I…" the boy cut off mid-sentence and Bruce could hear the man in the background once more.

Every sense screamed at him with alarm. "Dick?"

"Uh…" Dick's voice sounded horribly uncertain, "it's filled with bags of frozen peas."

"Dick, I don't–"

"Time's up." The kidnapper was back on the line. "Here's how it's going to go, Bruce – you're going to get in your car and drive into Gotham. No cops, just you. You have fifteen minutes to get into the city before I call you again and tell you where to meet us with the money. And just to make sure there's no cops; your kid will be waiting in the freezer he told you about."

"What?! NO!" Bruce shouted. He could hear Dick yell in the background and the sick feeling in his gut twisted into sharp panic. "Stop it! What are you doing?!"

"Sorry, Bruce, but we need to make sure the cops stay away from our little meeting."

"I promise there'll be no police! Don't do this!"

"It's already done. Kid's in the freezer, so unless you want him to be frozen solid by the time you get here, I suggest you get moving."

Then he was gone, leaving Bruce staring at his phone in horror.

"Mr. Wayne…" Captain Gordon's voice sounded and Bruce spun to face him.

"Did you get a location?!"

The officer, his face full of anger and concern, shook his head. "We couldn't pin one down, they bounced the signal somehow."

"Then I need to move." Setting the timer on his watch, Bruce turned to Alfred, who was standing in the doorway. Bruce guessed from his expression that he'd heard the call. "Alfred, bring the van around."

Without a word the butler disappeared and Bruce turned back to Gordon. "Captain, can one of your officers help me load the cases?"

"Of course. Travers, Wallace, help Mr. Wayne, please."

At his directive, two of the burliest officers moved towards the four cases in the corner. Bruce also made to grab one but was stopped by Gordon. "Mr. Wayne, you can't seriously be thinking of going to face these men by yourself. What if they just shoot you and take the money? Let one of my plainclothes officers tail you, I promise he won't–"

"No!" snapped Bruce, turning on him in panic. "Captain, you heard them. Promise me your officers won't follow me!"

"But, Mr. Wayne–"

"NO!" Bruce shouted. "They've locked him in a fucking freezer! I don't care about me or the money. No police, Jim, _please!_ "

The officer sighed. "Okay. But the second you have a location, contact me. I can send units after them and ensure an ambulance gets to Dick quickly."

"Thank you," said Bruce, grabbing one of the cases and hauling it out the door. Dick was depending on him to move fast.

 _Hang on, kiddo, I'm coming._

oOo

Bruce drove like a lunatic into Gotham, heart pounding the whole time. He arrived on the outskirts of the city just as his cell went off. Barely giving himself time to indicate, he banked a hard right and pulled haphazardly into a loading bay. Seizing the phone on the passenger seat beside him, he barked a hurried, "Hello?!"

"Are you in Gotham, Bruce?" came the voice of the man he'd spoken to before.

"Yes. Where are you?"

"I'll tell you exactly where after you've followed our directions. Head to the subway station at the corner of eight and twelfth. Take the money and get on the red line to–"

"I can't carry this much money by myself!" Bruce interrupted furiously, because of course these morons hadn't considered that. "It's in four cases that weigh almost two hundred pounds each!"

There was silence on the other end.

"Why can't I drive to you?" demanded Bruce.

"I'll call you back," said the kidnapper abruptly.

"No, wait!" Bruce cried, but the man had already ended the call. Frustrated, he thumped the steering wheel.

He glanced at his watch which was still counting the time Dick was spending in the freezer. Seventeen minutes. The boy had been in there for seventeen minutes. How long could he survive in that cold for? How long would his _air_ last?

 _Please call back_ , Bruce thought, watching the precious minutes tick past.

At the twenty-seven minute mark, he was just wondering if he should call Gordon when his phone rang again. "Hello!" he answered quickly.

"Okay, Bruce, change of plan," came the kidnapper's voice. "What are you driving?"

"A grey Ford van, why?" he snapped, close to exploding – what were these assholes playing at?! His son was locked in a freezer somewhere; they didn't have time for this crap!

"Drive to the old candy store on the East side of Gotham City Park. And remember, no cops or the kid becomes a popsicle." Then he was gone.

Throwing his cell onto the seat beside him, Bruce started up the van and peeled out, ignoring the blaring horns of the cars who had been forced to brake to avoid hitting him. He drove as fast as he dared without danger of crashing – Dick would die if he didn't make the ransom drop.

He pulled up outside the boarded-up old candy store almost twelve minutes later. The area was quiet, the bitter January chill keeping all but the hardiest of souls away from the park. Bruce glanced at his watch. Where the hell were the kidnappers? Dick had been in the freezer for forty minutes now and no matter how quickly Bruce got to him there would be no avoiding hypothermia.

He cast his eyes around the deserted street. They had picked their location well: no cameras, no people, no traffic and no place for any possible police tail to hide. It was also situated close to a motorway exit for a quick escape. Bruce guessed this was where they'd always intended for him to meet them and he wondered how close Dick was.

There was a sudden tap to the curb-side window and Bruce jerked his head. Three men in sunglasses, woolly hats and what were clearly fake beards stood outside. He immediately unlocked the van and got out, moving around to speak with them.

"Nice to meet you, Bruce," greeted the tallest one mockingly. It was the man Bruce had spoken to on the phone.

"Cut the crap!" he snapped. "The money's in the back. Now where's Dick?"

"Ah, ah! We need to check it's all there first," replied the man, wagging a finger as the others, who had bags slung over their shoulders, moved to the back of the van and opened it.

"You can't be serious!" Bruce cried. "Dick doesn't have time for you to count all that money!"

"Relax. They each have electronic banknote counters – they're only going to count one case and then compare it to the others. It shouldn't take more than twenty or thirty minutes."

"Dick's been locked in that freezer for–" Bruce glanced at his watch "–almost forty-five minutes! You can't do this!"

"Aren't I already doing it?"

Bruce balled his fists in fury. "You son-of-a-bitch–"

"Watch your language! My mother was a lady."

It took everything Bruce had not to hit him. "The money's all there. Just tell me where Dick is and–"

"Not a hope. Now, stop arguing and put this on." The man held out a hood.

Bruce frowned. "What's this for?"

"Can't have you seeing our getaway vehicle, can we?" he replied, taking out a cell phone and calling a number. "Do it, Bruce. The longer you delay, the more time your kid spends in that freezer."

Scowling and clenching his jaw, Bruce had no choice but to comply. He'd just pulled the hood over his head when the kidnapper said, "bring the car."

He was talking to someone on the phone. Bruce's eyes narrowed. So there were more involved than the three who'd taken Dick off the bus. He filed that information away for later. Right now, the only thing that mattered was getting to Dick before he froze or suffocated.

Three minutes later he heard a car pull up and a door open. Footsteps sounded and then the kidnapper who'd been doing all the talking said, "Help the others count the cash."

Bruce wanted to scream. These bastards were risking his child's _life_ for their greed! "How much longer?"

"Not much longer," the kidnapper replied. "Have a little patience, Bruce."

"It's kind of hard to have patience when your son is locked in a fucking freezer!"

"Such language. Does Dick know about your potty mouth?"

He clenched his fists. _Don't. Hit him_. "Look, I don't care about the money and I wouldn't risk Dick's life by not delivering all of it. Please, just tell me where he is."

"We'll tell you when we're ready. Now shut up before I decide not to tell you at all."

Bruce reluctantly did as ordered. He couldn't take the chance this man would follow through with that threat.

Time ticked by with agonizing slowness. Counting silently, Bruce struggled to keep his panic and fear under control – a near herculean task once he reached thirty minutes. Dick had now been in the freezer for almost an hour and a half. Eventually, he began to jitter with agitation, frustration and concern. _C'mon, c'mon_ …

"Goddammit!" he finally burst out, unable to bear it any longer. "The money's all there! Just tell me where he is!"

"Relax, Bruce," the kidnapper said. "They're just about finishing up. So, here's how it's going to play out: three of us will leave with the money and one of my men will stay with you. After we've gotten safely away, he's going to tell you where your kid is."

Bruce exploded. "I don't think so! I've played by every one of your bullshit rules – now tell me where my son is!"

The unmistakable feel of a gun jabbed in his stomach. "You don't get to tell me what to do, Wayne," growled the angry voice of the kidnapper. "I could just shoot you right here, right now and leave with the money. But I'm a decent guy – so keep doing what I say and I'll tell you where to find your spoiled brat kid, understand?"

"But–"

"Can it!" the kidnapper snapped, jabbing the gun hard into his stomach. "It's my way or the kid freezes, you got that?"

" _Yes!_ " Bruce ground out, almost choking on his rage. He wanted to rip the bastard apart, but he hadn't a hope in hell of finding Dick in time without him.

For several minutes, he listened to the men heaving the cases out of the back of the van and into another car. Then came the sound of murmuring from the back of the van before footsteps came towards them. "It's done," said a new voice. "Go."

"Been a pleasure doing business with you, Brucie," sneered the first kidnapper before footsteps pattered away, followed by the sound of three doors slamming shut.

Panicking, Bruce reached up to grab the hood because what if they were all leaving?! But hands grabbed his wrists and the new voice said, "The hood stays on until they've left."

Only slightly reassured Bruce lowered his hands and listened to the car start up and leave. After a minute, the second kidnapper said, "okay, you can take the hood off now."

Bruce immediately yanked it off. "Where's Dick?"

The man in front of him shook his head. "I have to wait ten minutes before telling you."

" _Ten minutes?!_ But Dick has been in that freezer for–" Bruce glanced at his watch and his stomach churned sickeningly "–ninety-eight minutes! You're going to kill him!"

The man shifted uncomfortably. "Okay, I'll tell you in five minutes – I just need to wait until they've gotten out of range. You son's not that far from here, Mr. Wayne."

 _Mr._ Wayne?The kidnapper's deferential nature twanged at his suspicions, but he ignored them. Finding Dick was more important than the kidnapper's identity. "As far as I'm concerned, they're already out of range. Just tell me where Dick is."

Even through the sunglasses and fake beard, Bruce could see the man hesitate, so he added quickly, "I don't give a crap about the money; all I want is my son back."

The kidnapper scratched at the hat on his head and glanced at his watch before looking around uneasily. "I– they told me to wait…"

"They don't have to know that you didn't. They're gone and I swear there's no police! I wouldn't risk Dick's life by bringing them."

The kidnapper stared at him through the dark sunglasses, not saying anything, but he was clearly agitated: Bruce could see his right leg jittering nervously and he was chewing on his lip beneath the fake beard. He wondered why this man had been chosen to stay behind – he didn't seem quite so controlled as the other kidnapper.

"Did you know children succumb to the effects of hypothermia more quickly than adults?" Bruce tried again, desperate. "Dick is only twelve – please, don't let him die!"

"Alright…" the kidnapper exhaled, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a slip of paper and a small key. "He's at this address."

Bruce grabbed them from the gloved fingers, and the kidnapper immediately turned and sprinted down the street.

Bruce didn't care – he had Dick's location! Eyes on the address, he moved to the driver's side and climbed in. As he started up the engine, he grabbed his cell phone and dialled Jim Gordon. The officer answered on the first ring.

"Mr. Wayne?"

"I know where Dick is!" he said urgently, pulling out. "He's at a restaurant called Sully's on 615 Anderson Street! I'm on my way there now."

"I'll get an ambulance over there immediately. What about–?"

"Sorry, Jim, I've gotta go," Bruce interrupted, ending the call so he could concentrate on driving.

His heart was pounding violently in his chest as he tore through the streets, teetering on the cusp of panic. Every time he encountered a red light Bruce ran it, almost causing several collisions and leaving behind many honking, angry drivers in his wake. The billionaire knew he was being reckless, but his fear and worry were too great to slow down. Dick had been in that freezer for almost two hours and he was terrified of what he might find.

Turning onto Anderson Street, Bruce scanned for the restaurant. Spotting it towards the end, he increased his speed. Pulling up outside the building, he parked half on the curb and jumped out. Dashing to the front door of the restaurant, he was unsurprised to find it locked. Without hesitating, he kicked the door. The lock made a whining noise, but didn't give. Putting all of his strength into it, Bruce kicked again and the door burst open.

Light from the outside spilled into the darkened restaurant beyond, but Bruce wasn't interested in the dining area. Dick was in a freezer, which meant he had to be in the kitchen – probably located to the back. He quickly entered and headed for the double doors at the end of the room.

Crashing through the doors into the kitchen, Bruce threw his gaze around and immediately saw the freezer. A sign hung over it with the words _he's in here_ and an arrow pointing down. Enraged, Bruce sprinted over and used the key he'd been given to open the locks, before throwing the lid of the freezer open.

Dick was slumped in a corner against several bags of frozen peas. His eyes were closed and his skin was tinged with a frightening blue cast.

"No…" Bruce moaned. Bending in, he carefully lifted the boy out, knowing the heart was hyper-excitable in severe hypothermia and that any movement could result in fibrillation. Dick felt like a corpse and Bruce had to swallow back the fear that threatened to consume him.

 _Complete assessment first,_ he thought, as the freezer lid slammed shut and his training kicked in.

Taking four steps away from the freezer, Bruce sank slowly to the floor and sat with Dick on his legs. Keeping his right arm around the frozen child propped against him, his left moved to take Dick's pulse, wavering when he spied the deep welts and congealed blood plastered across the thin little wrists.

 _Those fucking bastards!_

Forcing away his fury and horror at the bloody, torn skin, Bruce felt for a pulse, despair nearly wrenching him apart when he couldn't find one.

 _That doesn't mean anything,_ his training reminded him. _Radial pulse disappears between temperatures of ninety-one and eighty-six. Check carotid pulse for a full minute as heart rate can decrease to just a beat per minute._

Pressing two fingers to Dick's neck, he held his breath and waited. After an agonizing thirty-four seconds, he felt it: the barely-there, feeble pulse. Bruce exhaled. _He's alive._

But Dick didn't feel alive. He was ice cold, and his breathing was so shallow that to someone not trained he would have appeared dead. Still keeping the boy upright, Bruce tilted his head back and began rescue breathing. Oxygen aside, his warm breath might add heat to Dick's frozen body.

After several minutes of rescue breathing, Bruce was beginning to feel light-headed when he heard noise from the front of the restaurant.

The ambulance.

"Back here! We're back here!" he yelled, jerking his head up. "We're in the kitchen! Help!"

Seconds later, two paramedics toting a gurney came through the door, starting at the sight of Gotham's most famous citizen sitting on the floor with an unconscious child clutched in his arms.

"He's got a pulse but it's really weak," Bruce told them, not caring about maintaining his bubble-head 'Brucie' persona. "And he's barely breathing!"

"Okay, Mr. Wayne," said the taller of the two men, putting the gurney down and kneeling beside them. "We're gonna look after Richard, I promise. But it's important that we move him as little as possible, so I'm gonna leave him where he is until we're ready to transport him, and I need you to stay calm and not move around too much, okay?"

The patronizing tone made Bruce want to hit him, only he couldn't because as far as the paramedic was concerned, he didn't know anything about hypothermia. So he nodded and the paramedic smiled reassuringly.

The other man was unzipping a bag and pulling out a non-rebreather mask, which he quickly slipped over Dick's mouth and nose before attaching the tube to a strange-looking oxygen tank. Bruce squinted at it and recognized it as a RES-Q-AIR tank.

"It's res-Q-air," the paramedic explained, misreading Bruce's glance. "It'll feed him warm, humidified air to help raise his core temperature."

"Why is his tie around his ears?" interrupted the first paramedic, who now had a digital thermometer out and was removing Dick's tie, something Bruce hadn't noticed in his panic.

"Probably for the same reason his pants are tucked into his socks," the billionaire answered, surveying Dick and spying the fumbled clothing. "He was trying to conserve heat, or maybe protect his extremities."

"Clever kid," said the first paramedic. The thermometer beeped and he removed it from Dick's ear, frowning at what he saw. "I can't get a reading – his temperature is too low. How long was he _in_ there?"

"Almost two hours," replied Bruce, tightening his hold on Dick.

"Two hours, bloody hell," the paramedic muttered, now peering into Dick's eyes with a flashlight.

"Will he be okay?" Bruce asked anxiously.

"Hard to say until we get him to the hospital. But kids tend to recover better than adults from hypothermia so I'd say he's in with a good chance."

The other paramedic had been recording Dick's vitals, and was now taking his pulse with a frown on his face. "Hey, Marv," he addressed the first paramedic, "look at his hands…does that look like frostbite to you?"

Marv glanced down and narrowed his eyes, before carefully taking Dick's hands and gently pressing them with his thumbs. "Yeah, I think it is. Those wrists don't look good either."

Bruce sucked in a breath. He knew how bad frostbite could be. "Don't people lose toes and stuff to frostbite?"

"They can, but that's usually only in severe cases and this looks like first-degree frostbite. Richard should be okay," replied Marv. "We're gonna move him now, Mr. Wayne, so I want you to put him on this gurney, really slow and easy. You think you can do that?"

"Yes," said Bruce, sliding his left arm beneath Dick's legs and gently lifting him up, while Marv pulled the gurney up alongside them. Carefully, he placed Dick on the gurney, angry and fearful at just how stiff and frozen the boy felt.

"Will you be riding with us, Mr. Wayne?" asked Marv, tucking a blanket around Dick while the other paramedic collected their medical instruments.

"Absolutely," said Bruce, not taking his eyes off Dick's face. He could make out bruising on his left cheekbone and jaw through the frozen features and clenched his fists in fury. When he got his hands on those bastards…

"Okay," Marv continued. "Then you might want to lock up the van out front – 'cause I'm guessing it's yours – the door is wide open and this ain't exactly the friendliest of neighbourhoods."

Bruce blinked at the man who was now buckling Dick in. He'd completely forgotten about the van. He didn't particularly care what happened to it either, but the kidnappers might have left some evidence when they were counting the money. He'd have to ring Gordon and get him to check it out because he didn't plan on leaving Dick's side after this. "I'll do it on the way out."

Marv nodded while the other paramedic affixed the RES-Q-AIR tank to the gurney. "Alright, we're all set, let's go."

Heart beating painfully hard and eyes still locked on Dick, Bruce followed them out, hoping desperately that his son would be alright.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Here we go, last chapter! Hope you guys enjoy. And I want to thank everyone who commented…I really appreciate your amazing feedback. I'm fairly certain I responded to everyone, but if I didn't, I'm sorry. It wasn't intentional, just been a mad few weeks.

Now, two little announcements to make. The first is that this is likely (depending on the prompt I'm given by the fanfiction contest winner) to be my last Dick-Grayson-gets-kidnapped-for-ransom fic, as I've really flogged that horse to death! Now, that's not to say that Dick won't get kidnapped again ('cause I have some very evil plans…mwwhahaha!), just that it won't involve ransom.

Second announcement is that the all stories entered into the YJ fanfiction contest are now posted on the Livejournal page (link in my profile). I'd really appreciate it if anyone who reads a story and likes it leaves a few words for that author as its obvious all the writers worked hard on their entries. The winner will be announced next Sunday so stay tuned!

Happy reading folks!

oOo

Five hours later found Bruce maintaining an anxious vigil in a chair beside Dick's hospital bed.

Everything had moved at a frenzied pace once they'd arrived at the ER. Dick had been _whooshed_ away for treatment, leaving Bruce with a stack of admittance forms to sign. Then Alfred had arrived demanding to know how Dick was, followed almost immediately by Jim Gordon inquiring after Dick and looking for information on the kidnappers.

Bruce had answered their questions and the occasional question posed by medical staff to the best of his ability, but it had been an effort not to snap at everyone to back the hell off. His nerves were frayed from worry and he was being haunted by the memory of Dick, stiff, cold and corpse-like in his arms. The only thing Bruce had wanted at that point was to be with his son.

But it was another two hours before Dick was stable enough for Bruce to see him. On arrival at the ER his core temperature had been dangerously low and ER doctors had ordered a haemodialysis machine for extracorporeal blood rewarming, alarming Bruce – he hadn't expected them to use such invasive measures. But the nurse keeping him updated on Dick's condition had assured him that the haemodialysis would raise his core temperature quicker.

Bruce had also been faced with a dilemma when ER doctors asked him to make a decision regarding the treatment of Dick's frostbitten hands: should they engage in active rewarming and risk increased blood flow from his hands decreasing his core temperature even further? Or should they use more passive methods to thaw the frozen appendages and risk tissue damage?

In the end, Bruce had decided on active rewarming. Dick would be devastated if tissue damage to his hands stopped him from ever using the trapeze again. There were acrobatics he could do without the use of hands, but trapeze had formed the core of the Flying Graysons' act and it was Dick's last real link to his family. Bruce didn't want to be the one who took that from him, and so had reasoned that Dick was in the hospital, where any potential decrease in temperature could be treated quickly, as could any heart arrhythmias caused by the decrease.

Didn't make it any less terrifying though.

Trying to swallow the knot that had been present in his throat ever since the kidnappers had put Dick in the freezer, Bruce leaned forward and ran a hand through the boy's hair. Though not as frozen as he had been, he still felt icy. Bruce rested his own warm hand against Dick's cold forehead, wishing he could transfer his body heat to the child.

"Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Wayne," a soft voice said, and Bruce looked up to see the nurse – Amanda something – who'd been assigned to Dick. "I'm just checking on Richard again."

Bruce rose to his feet and moved out of her way. Dick's core temperature had reached ninety more than an hour ago and he'd been admitted to the ICU where he was switched to less invasive measures of rewarming – warmed IV fluids and warm humidified air. Amanda had been in and out every fifteen minutes because Dick was still at risk of a whole host of dangerous after-effects such as fibrillation, pulmonary embolism, temperature afterdrop and shock.

Bustling over to the bed, the nurse began her usual routine of checking Dick's EKG, his IV line, his oxygen mask, his catheter, the heat packs at his neck, underarms and groin, before finally taking his temperature. "Ninety-one," she told Bruce. "He'll probably start waking up soon, so call me if he does."

"Okay."

The nurse disappeared and Bruce sat back into the chair once more. He hoped the nurse was right about Dick waking up because he was worried about any potential damage caused by oxygen deprivation while in the freezer.

His cell phone rang suddenly, loud in the quiet of the room, and Bruce hurriedly fished it out of his pocket. "Hello?"

"How is Master Dick?" came Alfred's voice from the other end. The butler had returned to Wayne Manor once Dick was admitted so he could oversee the police removing their equipment and pack a bag for Dick – the boy wasn't likely to be released for a few days.

"His temperature is up to ninety-one but he's still unconscious." Bruce clenched a fist. "I'm going to get those bastards, Alfred. I swear they won't get away with this!"

"I hope you do, sir, those men deserve to be punished for what they've done. However, I hope they won't be your sole focus."

"Meaning?"

"I imagine this whole ordeal was extremely traumatic for Master Dick. I'm well aware he possesses fortitude beyond most boys his age, but that doesn't change the fact that he was a twelve-year-old _child_ in a dangerous and vulnerable position. It's likely that this will be hard for him to deal with."

Bruce tightened his mouth as he understood what Alfred was saying: Dick hadn't had Robin to hide behind or Batman to protect him – he'd been completely at the mercy of those men, powerless to defend himself. Bruce had been so busy worrying about Dick's health he hadn't stopped to consider how frightening this must have been for him. "I'm not going to leave him alone to deal with this, Alfred. I'll be there for him."

"I hoped you would say that, sir. Now, I am almost finished organizing everything here – would you like me to bring you some food?"

"I'm not hungry, Alfred."

"Master Bruce, might I remind you that you haven't eaten since that paltry excuse for a breakfast you had at seven this morning?"

"Alfred, I'm really not–" He broke off as he caught sight of Dick's blue eyes blinking sleepily at him. "I've got to go, Dick's awake!" Ending the call and jerking to his feet, Bruce bent over the boy. "Hey, buddy."

"Bruce?" Dick's voice was a whisper behind the mask.

"Sure is. How you feeling, kiddo?"

"Cold. Hurts."

A small frisson of alarm rippled through Bruce. "What hurts, Dick?"

"Everrry…thing." His eyes scanned the room. "Where'm I?"

"The hospital," Bruce answered, pressing the call button. "What do you mean everything hurts?"

"'M all achey," Dick slurred. "Like…the flu."

"Ah," said Bruce in relieved understanding. "That's the hypothermia. The doctors said you might feel a little stiff and sore for a while."

Dick didn't respond.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Dick nodded slowly. "The kidnappers…put me in a freezer." He swallowed and looked at Bruce. "Did you get them?"

The man sighed regretfully. "I'm sorry, Dick. I let them leave with the money – it was the only way to find you."

"You paid the ransom?"

Bruce was taken aback by the question. "Of course I paid the ransom! Dick, why wouldn't I?"

The boy avoided his eyes. "It…it was a lot of money, Bruce."

"I don't care about the money. I have lots of money." He cupped the boy's chin. "But I only have one of you."

Dick stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Dickie, did you really think I wouldn't pay the ransom?" Bruce prodded softly.

"A– a little. I'm sorry, Bruce."

"You have nothing to apologize for. But, Dick, why did you think that? Why would you think that I wouldn't pay?"

"It was a lot of money and…I– I'm not your real son."

"Yes, you are!" said Bruce at once, fiercely. "We may not be blood but you are still my son. _Never_ doubt that, okay?"

Looking a little startled, Dick nodded. "Okay."

"That's my boy." Bruce smiled at him before getting serious again. "Dick, the police are going to want to talk to you. Did you get a look at the kidnappers?"

"I never saw them. They kept a hood over my head. But…" He hesitated before whispering, "I think I know one of them."

"What! Who?"

Dick shook his head. "I don't know; I couldn't place him. But I knew his voice, Bruce – it was so _familiar_."

Bruce tightened his jaw. Someone Dick _knew_ had been involved in his kidnapping? The thought made him sick to his stomach. He was about to ask the boy more questions when another voice spoke suddenly.

"Is everything alright, Mr. Wayne?"

He turned to see Amanda framed in the doorway. "Dick's awake," he explained.

She beamed. "Well now, that's good news. Let's have a look at the patient." Moving to the other side of the bed, she smiled kindly at Dick. "Hello, sweetheart, my name is Amanda. How are you feeling?"

"A little cold and achy."

"That's normal given the circumstances. You were pretty hypothermic, so it'll take a few days before you feel back to normal, but we're gonna take good care of you, okay?"

"Uh-huh."

She smiled again. "Now, I'm just going to give you a little check-up and I'd like you to stay nice and still, alright, honey? It's better if you don't move around too much just yet."

Dick nodded and the nurse started examining him while Bruce watched with a mixture of relief and anger. He had his son back safe and he was going to be okay, but that didn't change the fact that someone Dick knew had been involved in his kidnapping.

Bruce was going to find out who they were and make them pay.

oOo

"Come on, Bruce, please? I'm bored out of my mind here!"

"Not a chance, Dick. The doctors want to keep you for another day or two, and I agree with them."

"But I told you, I feel fine!" Dick protested.

"Feeling fine and being fine are two entirely different things. You were severely hypothermic, Dick, you almost _died!_ "

"But I didn't," the boy pointed out, glib and cheerful.

Bruce crossed his arms and glared.

Dick sighed. "Alright, fine. Can you at least bring me my computer? Seriously, Bruce, I'm going crazy in here!"

"I'll get Alfred to bring some books when he calls this afternoon. Your hands are in no shape to go tapping at a computer just yet."

Dick sighed again, looking deeply unhappy, but Bruce wasn't budging. The boy had suffered second-degree frostbite to his hands, which had blistered horribly the day after he was rescued from the freezer. Doctors had assured Bruce that the blisters looked worse than they actually were, and that Dick shouldn't suffer any long-term damage, but Bruce couldn't help worrying. It didn't help that the wounds to his wrists had developed an infection after being stitched.

Bruce swallowed back a growl. He'd been ready to tear the kidnappers apart when he'd heard about the restraints used – fucking _wire!_ What kind of animals did that to a child? Dick was beyond lucky not to have suffered any long-term nerve or muscle damage!

A knock sounded and Bruce turned just as one of the security guards he'd hired to guard Dick's room poked his head around the door. "Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Wayne, but Captain Gordon is here."

"Thanks, Keith. Send him in."

The burly guard gave a curt nod and withdrew. Seconds later, Jim Gordon entered. "Morning, Mr. Wayne, Dick." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the door. "What's with the security detail? Is everything alright?"

"Reporters," Bruce replied, scowling. "Two got in here yesterday – one of them when I wasn't even here! They've been very…persistent since Dick's kidnapping."

Gordon frowned. "They're harassing you?"

Bruce laughed bitterly. "No, they're clever enough to stop just shy of harassment – they haven't done anything I can get them on legally…and I'm not giving them the chance to either. Dick's been through quite enough."

Gordon nodded his agreement, turning to the boy in the bed. "Dick, how are you feeling?"

"Much better, thanks, Captain."

"Your hands healing okay?" the officer asked, his eyes darting towards the blackened blisters.

Dick grinned and wiggled his fingers at him. "They took the bandages off this morning. I can move them now."

"That doesn't mean moving them at every opportunity," Bruce replied. Dick had been weirdly fascinated by the blackened blisters once he knew his hands weren't going to suffer any long-term damage – he'd even sent pictures to Wally! Bruce supposed it was some kind of boys-will-be-boys thing because he definitely didn't understand the fascination. He thought the blisters were flat-out disturbing.

Dick just grinned and wiggled his fingers at Bruce. Shooting the boy a reproving look, Bruce returned his attention to Gordon. "Captain, have you anything new on the kidnappers?"

"Yes, actually. That's why I'm here." He exhaled before announcing, "We have one of the kidnappers in custody."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Then why don't you look happy about it?"

"Because I know why Dick recognized one of the voices." Gordon looked at Dick. "The man's name is Nick Coulson."

Dick's brow furrowed for a second before his eyes widened and he exclaimed, "Wait! You mean…Mr. Coulson? My _teacher?_ "

Gordon nodded. "I'm afraid so, Dick."

"Dick doesn't have a teacher named Coulson," said Bruce, as the boy stared at Gordon in stunned shock.

"He was a student teacher," Gordon replied quietly. "He was only on placement for six weeks before Christmas, and the school never thought to tell us about him when we were questioning the staff."

Bruce exploded. "If he was a student teacher then how the hell did he know about the trip?! The school's security policy is supposed to prevent that information from being revealed to anyone other than permanent staff!"

Gordon looked uncomfortable. "One of the kids told him."

"Which kid?" Bruce demanded, furious.

"Me," Dick answered quietly, and Bruce turned to him in surprise.

"What! Dick, why? You know what school policy is."

"We were talking about virtual computers and the virtual reality simulator at TanaTech came up – I told him I was looking forward to seeing it on the January trip. He was a teacher so I thought he knew we were going there. Besides, he was really cool and…and…" Dick tailed off, looking upset.

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, placing an arm around Dick's shoulders. "Is Coulson that computer teacher you mentioned back in November?" he asked, a vague memory of Dick chattering excitedly about some teacher pinging in his brain. It had been the week WayneTech were bidding against LuthorCorp for a piece of extremely advanced technology, and Bruce had been so busy that he hadn't really listened. He wished now that he had paid attention.

Dick nodded. "We talked a lot about computers…he knew so much about them." He swallowed and stared up at Bruce miserably. "I trusted him, why would he do this?"

Bruce had no answer and just squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.

"For what it's worth, Dick," Gordon spoke up, "he didn't want to do it. He was pretty much forced into it. His older brother, Kevin, was heavily in debt to Eastside 13–"

"The gang?" Bruce interrupted.

Gordon nodded. "Coulson isn't sure of exactly how much, but it was in the region of several million – mostly for drugs and gambling. Anyway, his brother was in prison, where gang members were threatening him, looking for their money. Then they started getting violent – they even cut off three of his fingers. Eventually, they started harassing the family for money and Coulson got desperate when his mother had a heart attack from the stress. He approached the gang with the idea of kidnapping Dick in order to pay his brother's debts and stop them from threatening his family."

"Do you expect us to feel sorry for him?" Bruce demanded.

"No," Gordon replied calmly. "I'm explaining to Dick that the last thing Nick Coulson wanted was to hurt him." The officer turned back to Dick. "Coulson didn't take any of the ransom money and he turned himself in last night."

Still looking upset, Dick asked, "Why would he do that?"

"His brother was murdered in prison yesterday morning, most likely by Eastside 13, giving Coulson no reason to protect the gang anymore. He asked me to tell you that he's sorry, Dick."

The boy didn't respond.

"Did he give you the names of the other kidnappers?" Bruce asked, ignoring the apology. It meant _nothing_ after what Dick had suffered.

The officer nodded. "All prominent gang members. Unfortunately, they've all skipped town. Apparently, they only gave what Kevin Coulson owed to Eastside 13 and kept the rest of the ransom money."

"The gang will be hunting them once they discover that," Bruce commented.

"If they don't already know," Gordon replied.

"What's the likelihood of you catching up with them before the gang does?"

"No idea. We're liaising with the FBI's violent gangs' task force, so hopefully we'll find them first."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. If Gordon didn't, Batman would. "What about the restaurant they used? Is it connected to the gang?" Bruce had looked into the restaurant but discovered nothing untoward: Sully's was a family-run restaurant that had closed its doors last month after twenty years in business when the family patriarch died. His sons had sold the business and it was currently awaiting refurbishment by its new owners.

Gordon shook his head. "There's no connection to the gang and Coulson has no idea why they picked it. They didn't tell him anything about their plans – he didn't even know they'd planned on locking Dick in the freezer until the ransom call."

"Then why involve him in the kidnapping at all?"

"They needed his computer skills to bounce the signal while they made the ransom call."

"Probably intended to use him as a patsy as well," replied Bruce, thinking. "He was the kidnapper who stayed with me when the others left, wasn't he?"

Gordon nodded. "Part of their agreement for leaving his brother and family alone was that he would be the one to wait with you so they could get away. They were probably covering their asses in case the police decided to follow you." He fixed Bruce with a look and darted his eyes warningly towards Dick, who was staring miserably at his hands. "It also explains why he disobeyed them and told you where Dick was only minutes after they left."

Bruce pursed his lips. No matter how desperate Nick Coulson had been, Bruce would never forgive him for the ordeal he had put Dick through. But he understood why Gordon was playing up Coulson's guilt – Dick was clearly gutted by the betrayal and Gordon was trying to lessen the blow.

"Anyway," Gordon continued, "I have to get back to the station. I just wanted to let you know about Coulson."

"I appreciate that, Captain," said Bruce. "Thank you."

"I'll keep you updated on the others." Gordon turned to Dick and patted the boy's leg through the bedcovers. "Dick, I promise we'll do our best to get the rest of the kidnappers, okay?"

Dick nodded and mumbled, "Thanks, Captain Gordon."

The officer gave a sad smile and nodded to Bruce before leaving.

Bruce promptly returned his attention to Dick. "You okay, kiddo?"

Dick shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Dick. I know this is a big shock."

"I don't know why. I mean…" Dick shrugged. "I recognized his voice so I knew it had to be someone who knew me, right? I guess I just thought…I wasn't expecting it to be someone I liked."

Bruce could plainly hear the wobble in his voice and pulled the boy into a hug. He didn't know what to say to make Dick feel better. The boy had already been struggling with the concept of someone hurting him for money. Knowing now that it was someone he had liked, _trusted_ even, who was responsible for setting up his kidnapping…it would have a massive impact on Dick's ability to trust people.

He suppressed a sigh. Dick wasn't naturally suspicious like he was – he'd always been inclined to believe the best in people unless proven otherwise. And while Bruce had been concerned that his trusting nature could be dangerous for someone in Dick's position, he didn't actually want that part of him to disappear either. His belief in other people being inherently decent helped Dick maintain his optimistic outlook despite the things he'd seen. Bruce absolutely did not want that side of his son to disappear because of what a man Dick should have been able to trust had done.

He had to find a way to fix this.

oOo

Nick Coulson shifted in his chair, feeling the interrogation room close in around him. Beside him, his lawyer was silent, reading over his notes. Normally the man was irritatingly chatty and Nick usually wanted him to _stop_ talking, but right now he wished he would talk about the weather, his case, something, anything, to distract him from what was coming.

He glanced at the clock – almost eleven. They'd be here soon.

Nick swallowed. He wasn't looking forward to facing Dick Grayson. He'd been struggling with guilt ever since he'd found himself at an abandoned quarry pointing a freaking _gun_ at the twelve-year-old…it hadn't been real until that moment. But it had been horrifying real from there on out, the other men not caring about the harm they inflicted on the child so long as they got their money. It had been terrifying to see how cruel the gang could be. Nick knew he shouldn't have been surprised – he'd known how ruthless they were. He'd just thought they would have shown some restraint when it came to a kid. But they hadn't, and Nick was responsible for every awful thing they had inflicted on the boy.

The guilt was eating him alive.

Right leg jittering nervously, Nick glanced at the clock again. He'd assumed he wouldn't see Dick until the trial, and had been shocked when Captain Gordon came to his cell yesterday and told him that Dick wanted to speak with him. Speaking with Dick Grayson was the _last_ thing Nick wanted to do. He'd been responsible for the boy's kidnapping for chrissake! His dreams were being haunted by the kid being forced into the freezer, by Eddie winding wires around his wrists until they bled, and worst of all, by the kid's frozen corpse. Nick could only imagine the crap his subconscious would pull on him after this little meeting.

The thing was, he didn't _have_ to do this – his lawyer had told him he didn't have to agree to the meeting. But the kid wanted to speak to him and Nick felt he owed him that much. Besides, he was fairly certain that interviews like this weren't generally allowed and so serious strings must have been pulled to make this happen. Which wasn't exactly surprising given that Dick's father was Bruce Wayne.

The door opened and Captain Gordon entered. "They're here," he said. "Are you both ready?"

"We are," the lawyer replied.

Mouth dry and heart pounding, Nick nodded. Shit, he _so_ wasn't ready for this.

Crooking a finger to someone behind him, Gordon stepped aside, and the enormous figure of Bruce Wayne entered the room. Nick couldn't help but shudder at the air he was projecting – an angry calm that reeked with the promise of pain. There was no sign of the bubblehead playboy from TV. Behind him came Dick, his slight frame dwarfed by his guardian's.

Nick grimaced. Fuck, he was so little! How in the hell had he ever thought helping those assholes to abduct him would be okay? The end absolutely did not justify the means, even if his brother had lived.

Bruce and Dick sat down, the billionaire directly in front of Nick, glowering like some big, angry shield between Nick and the boy. For a minute, no one said anything and Nick twitched nervously. Was he supposed to say something? But it was Dick who'd wanted to speak to him so maybe he should wait? Besides, Bruce Wayne was radiating some serious protective-parent vibes and Nick wouldn't be surprised if he launched himself across the table if Nick even looked funny at his kid.

Finally, Dick cleared his throat and Nick chanced a glance at him. The kid was biting his lip and watching him with an edgy, apprehensive expression. "Were you…" he began in a low voice. "Did you…"

The boy swallowed and looked at the billionaire beside him. Nick was surprised to see the man soften, placing one massive hand on the kid's shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. Dick gave him a small smile and took a deep breath, his uncertain expression melting into one of resolve, before looking straight at Nick. "Were you planning the kidnapping while you were teaching me?"

Nick stared. He'd been expecting 'why', or even 'how could you'. He definitely hadn't been expecting that.

"Well," Bruce Wayne growled, "aren't you going to answer him?"

Nick shrank back a little from the intimidating man's glare and returned his attention to Dick. Not quite able to meet the boy's eyes, he kept his gaze on his cheek, where he noticed a blotch of fading purple bruises. He winced. That was where Jake had hit the kid. "No," he managed in a strangled voice. "That…I didn't think of it until my mother's heart attack. I was sitting in the hospital while she was in surgery and I…I was trying to think of ways to pay back Kevin's debts."

"And I was your way?"

The coldness in the young voice startled Nick and he nodded.

"How much of the kidnapping was your idea? How much did you plan?"

Nick blinked. Talk about weird questions for a twelve-year-old, not to mention the grim expression on the boy's face – it was eerily grown-up for a child. "The actual kidnapping, taking you off the bus and bouncing the cell signal for the ransom call were my ideas. The rest…what they did…I had no idea. About any of it."

"But you still let them do it."

Swallowing, Nick nodded again.

"Why?"

There was an obvious wobble to the child's voice this time, and Nick realized the rigid control he was displaying was nothing more than a mask to hide behind. The boy was confused, upset, and struggling to understand why Nick had done this. The enormity of what that meant staggered him. He hadn't just been responsible for putting Dick in a dangerous situation; he had probably destroyed the boy's ability to trust people, even those he should be able to trust. Dick Grayson would likely never look at a teacher in the same way again.

Regretting his actions even more, Nick forced himself to look the boy in the eyes. "I can't give you a good answer because there is no good answer. What I did was stupid and selfish."

Dick frowned. "But weren't you…you were trying to help your family…"

"Yeah. And I was desperate, caught between a rock and a hard place, but it still doesn't justify it. It doesn't make it right. I'll spend the rest of my life regretting what I did."

"Is that why you helped me? You know, when they were…" Dick raised a hand from his lap and gestured awkwardly at his stomach.

The blackened blisters on the child's hand caused Nick's stomach to swoop sickeningly. Jesus Christ, his lawyer had said there'd been no long-term damage from the freezer but that looked _nasty._ Nick was overcome with a sudden, powerful need to throw up and glanced away. Breathing deeply, he fumbled out an answer. "I…they…what they were doing was…despicable. Helping you was the right thing to do."

"And yet you left him in that freezer," Bruce Wayne's cold, angry voice interrupted suddenly.

Nick looked back at the billionaire, whose eyes were dark with hatred and fury. It was chilling to be looked at in such a way by another person. He sighed miserably. "I was a coward. I didn't think they were going to leave him there for as long as they did, and I thought going along with them would end the whole thing quicker. I just wanted to be finished with them." He looked at Dick and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?! You think an apology makes up for everything he went through?" Bruce Wayne practically snarled, leaning forward. "That freezer almost killed him!"

Nick shrank back from the billionaire's anger while Dick placed a hand on his guardian's arm. The large, angry man glanced down at the boy, who was staring up at him, and sighed before nodding. Giving Nick a dirty look, he sat back in his seat once more.

Dick returned his attention to Nick. "So…why didn't you take any of the ransom money?"

Nick grimaced. His stomach was twisted up in painful knots from the stress and guilt of this conversation, and he wished the kid would stop asking questions. "The ransom…it was blood money, I couldn't take it. All I wanted was Eastside 13 to leave my family alone."

The boy glanced down at his lap and Nick hoped he was finished asking questions. But then he looked up again. "Why did you turn yourself in?"

Nick looked away. "I regretted your kidnapping ever since the quarry, but if I'd backed out then they would have killed me and my brother. And afterwards, I was afraid they'd kill Kevin if I said anything, so I kept quiet. But then they killed him anyway."

Nick could hear the taint of bitterness and grief in his own voice. He'd loved his big brother very much, but he was also so _angry_ at him for bringing Eastside 13 into their family. All their lives were destroyed now.

"I'm sorry about your brother."

Nick's head whipped around and he stared in open-mouthed shock at Dick, unable to believe the boy had just offered sympathy to him after everything.

"My family were murdered too," Dick continued quietly. "I know how much it hurts."

And fucking hell, way to pile on the guilt. Remind Nick that he was responsible for the kidnapping of a kid who'd already watched his whole family die right in front of him. It was official, Nick would never sleep again. He managed a hoarse, "Thanks."

Dick now turned his gaze to the man beside him and stared at him questioningly. No words were said, but whatever passed between them had the man narrowing his eyes and tightening his jaw. "Dick, _no_."

Nick was surprised at the wordless way they seemed able to communicate. There was a real closeness there, belying the rumours which claimed Bruce Wayne regretted taking the boy in and that's why Dick was rarely seen at functions with him. Nick suspected the real reason was far more parental: Bruce wanted to shield the boy from the insane publicity that the Wayne name brought. Everything Nick was witnessing here said Bruce Wayne cared very much about his kid.

The man in question was now frowning and shaking his head at the boy, but the child didn't seem at all bothered and turned instead to face Cyril Jackson, Nick's lawyer. "Um…it's Mr. Jackson, right?"

Cyril nodded. "It is. Do you have a question for me, young man?"

"Could I…if I were to ask the judge to go easy on Mr. Coulson, would he do it?"

Nick gawped at the boy. What the hell was he doing?!

"Difficult to say," the lawyer told Dick, "this is an unusual situation. However, given that you are the victim, I would have to say yes, I believe the judge would consider leniency."

"How would I go about doing it? Would I have to make a statement to you? Or the police?"

"Don't answer that question, Mr. Jackson!" Bruce Wayne snapped before turning to the boy. "Dick, you are not doing this – that man is the reason you were kidnapped!"

Clearly, Bruce Wayne wasn't interested in leniency. Nick was willing to bet that if he had his way, Nick would burn in the lowest circle of hell for all eternity. And while the hell thing was a bit extreme, Nick was inclined to agree with him about the leniency bit. "Mr. Wayne is right. I don't deserve leniency. I don't _want_ leniency. I deserve whatever I get for this."

"Damn straight you do," muttered Bruce Wayne.

"But what about what I want?" Dick asked.

There was silence as every adult in the room stared at the child.

Dick exhaled, placing his hands on the table and nervously tugging at his sweatshirt sleeves. "Look," he said in a low voice, staring determinedly at his hands, "I don't want him to go to prison for years and years like everyone's been saying he will. I don't think that's fair."

"Dick…" his guardian began but the boy cut him off.

"No! It's not right, Bruce. He came forward when he could have got away with it. And he did _try_ to help me during…everything. But…" Dick took a deep breath and gave Nick a slightly bitter look, "it doesn't mean I forgive you – I don't. I just want things to be fair."

Nick didn't know how respond to that and just sat there, staring at the boy.

It was Captain Gordon who broke the silence. Stepping forward from where he'd been leaning against the wall watching the proceedings, the officer moved behind the boy. "Dick, I want you to really think about what you're doing…are you sure this is what you want?"

The child nodded.

Gordon sighed and shifted his attention to Bruce Wayne who was sitting ramrod straight and clenching his teeth so hard Nick could hear them grinding. "Mr. Wayne," the officer began, "if this is what _Dick_ wants, then he'll need to give us a statement. But he'll need your permission first."

Bruce Wayne scowled at the subtle hint telling him that this was what Dick wanted. It was blatantly obvious to the entire room that it was the last thing he wanted. He glanced at the boy beside him and the child stared unblinkingly back, once more communicating in the strange, silent way they seemed to share. Eventually, the man sighed. "Alright. I'll give my permission."

"Okay then," said Gordon as the boy smiled at Bruce Wayne, "Dick can give his statement before he leaves if he wants."

"I do," Dick spoke up quickly.

Gordon gave him a small smile and patted his shoulder. "Do you have anything else you want to ask Mr. Coulson?"

Dick glanced at Nick before shaking his head.

"Then it looks like we're done here," said Bruce Wayne abruptly, standing up. "Captain Gordon, where do we go for Dick to give his statement?"

"Come with me and I'll take it," the officer replied as Dick also got to his feet. "Mr. Jackson, do you need any more time with your client?"

"I'd like a few more minutes if you wouldn't mind, Captain," the lawyer responded.

The officer nodded. "Fine. Just tap on the door when you're done and the officer outside will open it."

The officer opened the door, jerking Nick out of his shocked stupor. "Wait!"

Everyone turned to look at him. Heart beating hard, Nick addressed the boy, "Thank you. You're a good kid, Dick, and I'm truly sorry for what I did to you. I don't expect forgiveness – I just want you to know that."

Dick made a motion somewhere between a nod and a shrug before Bruce Wayne placed an arm over his shoulders and said, "Let's go, Dick."

The child gave Nick one last look while Bruce Wayne shot him one last angry glare before they followed Captain Gordon out of the room.

Staring at the door, Nick barely heard his lawyer starting to talk about what this new development would mean for his case. He was struggling to understand how a twelve-year-old child could show such magnanimity towards the man who was responsible for putting him through a terrifying ordeal that had nearly killed him. And while he was impressed and grateful for Dick's actions, he also resented him ever so slightly – how was he ever supposed to ease his guilt now?

oOo

Dick and Bruce didn't speak as they walked back to the car, although Dick could tell his guardian had a lot to say.

He was honestly surprised at Bruce's restraint. He knew the man wanted the harshest punishment possible for all of Dick's kidnappers, including Nick Coulson, but that he hadn't insisted on it was confusing Dick – Bruce wasn't one to back down easily. He'd also stayed quiet during Dick's statement to Captain Gordon, refraining from making any arguments against leniency for Nick Coulson or trying to talk Dick out of it.

Dick had expected Bruce to say something as soon as they left the station. He wasn't the most verbose of people, but if he had an important point to make then he would make it…usually in as few words as possible. That he wasn't doing so now seemed weirdly uncharacteristic for him.

To Dick's relief, they reached the car without incident. He'd been half-expecting some paparazzi to be lounging outside the station – they'd certainly been everywhere else ever since his kidnapping. Dick supposed Gordon had warned his officers not to breathe a word about this morning's interview.

Bruce unlocked the car and they got in. Dick watched his guardian put his keys in the ignition and unable to bear the silence anymore asked, "Bruce, are you mad?"

The man turned to him with raised eyebrows. "Why would you think I'm mad?"

"Because I asked for leniency."

Bruce gave him a small smile. "I'm not mad, Dick, I'm proud."

Dick stared at him. "What?"

"That you could show such goodwill towards the man responsible for your kidnapping shows what a good person you are. Most adults in your situation wouldn't have done it. I know I wouldn't."

"But…I thought you _wanted_ him to spend a long time in prison?"

"I do, but that doesn't mean it's the right thing." He sighed. "I'm not you, Dick. I'm not good at forgiving people."

Dick frowned. "I didn't forgive him."

"I know. But you don't hate him either, otherwise you wouldn't have asked for leniency."

He had no response to that.

"Did talking to him make you feel any better?" Bruce asked.

Dick thought about it. There had been a miserable weight pressing on his chest ever since he'd found out about his teacher selling him to the kidnappers. It had been hard to deal with the fact someone he liked and trusted was willing to do that to him. It was why he'd asked to speak with Mr. Coulson, even though Captain Gordon had already told him everything about the man's motivations. But Dick had needed to talk to the man himself to get his head around it.

And it _had_ helped. Dick was surprised to find the awful weight in his chest felt less heavy. He definitely didn't forgive the man for his actions but…seeing how broken up Mr. Coulson was made a difference. Dick could see that he was truly sorry, that he really did regret his actions, and it was actually something of a relief.

He looked up at Bruce. "I think it did. I feel better knowing that he didn't just plan to sell me off all along…he only did it because he was desperate, because he didn't know what else to do. And he's sorry – honestly sorry, not just saying it. I guess that makes me feel like…I am a person to him, not just money."

Suddenly, Bruce leaned over and hugged him, surprising Dick. His guardian wasn't the most affectionate of people. "Kiddo, you're worth so much more than money. Never forget that."

Dick closed his eyes and hugged back. Bruce had been amazing through all of this: it had been over a week since Dick was kidnapped and yet his guardian still hadn't returned to work. He had organized the meeting with Nick Coulson despite disagreeing with it, and he had supported Dick's request for leniency even though he clearly didn't want the same. Most importantly, he had been working tirelessly to track down the other kidnappers, and it wasn't because he wanted his money back. Bruce didn't care about the money – all he cared about was tracking down the men who'd hurt his son.

Dick was still trying to get to grips with the fact that Bruce considered him his son. He'd always known Bruce cared about him, but he didn't realize he cared about him _that_ much. It was a comforting discovery, soothing the horrible insecurities that had plagued him during his kidnapping. For the first time since his family's deaths, Dick really felt like he had a home.

"Thank you," he whispered into Bruce's chest, "for everything."

Bruce responded by squeezing him a little tighter. "Anytime, kiddo. Anytime."


End file.
